The Further Adventures of Ebenezer Scrooge by Charlie Lovett

with a highly important client and were not to be disturbed under any circumstances unless they were to receive a visit from one Ebenezer Scrooge.
    â€œBut I am Ebenezer Scrooge,” he said, laughing.
    â€œHe is, you know,” said the clerk in the next cage with a roll of his eyes. “Though I’m surprised he hasn’t yet wished you a Merry Christmas, it being June.”
    The first clerk, who was evidently new to the position, did not think Scrooge looked the sort of man for whom one ought to interrupt a highly important conference, but since two newly arrived customers were even then greeting Scrooge by name and being wished a Merry Christmas, there seemed to be no doubt about his identity, so the clerk led him away down a long narrow corridor and through a series of heavy oak doors until they arrived in a dim and stuffy anteroom.
    â€œOne moment, please,” whispered the clerk, who proceeded to stand by the largest oak door they had yet encountered for nearly a minute before he ventured a timid knock. This effort was met with utter silence.
    â€œI’m sorry,” whispered the clerk. “Perhaps they didn’t want to be disturbed after all.”
    â€œNonsense!” cried Scrooge, elbowing his way past the clerk and banging on the door with the handle of his walking stick. Before the clerk could restrain him, the door opened slightly and the scowling face of Mr. Portly appeared.
    â€œI’m sorry, sir,” muttered the clerk, “I tried to . . .” But what he tried to do Mr. Portly never discovered, for as soon as Portly saw Scrooge, he swung the door open and grinned with delight.
    â€œMr. Scrooge, what a pleasure! What a delight. We’d no idea you would honour us so soon with a visit.” The befuddled clerk took this opportunity to make his exit, and Mr. Portly grabbed Scrooge by the hand and, shaking vigourously, pulled him into the inner sanctum in which the highly important conference was taking place.
    The room might easily have contained Bob Cratchit’s entire house; Freddie’s family might have comfortably lounged in the fireplace; the table was as large as the stage of a West End theatre; and the woman who sat at the table (next to Mr. Pleasant, who now jumped from his seat to greet Scrooge by shaking the hand not claimed by Mr. Portly) wore a diamond ring that might, if pawned, have covered the weekly deposits in the bank with change left over for Sunday dinner.
    â€œWe’re so pleased you’ve joined us, Mr. Scrooge,” said Mr. Pleasant, apparently loath to release Scrooge’s hand until the old man was comfortably seated in a chair large enough that it might accommodate (and the thought occurred to all three men at once) the Ghost of Christmas Present.
    â€œThis is Mr. Scrooge,” said Mr. Portly, turning to the lady, who sat patiently at the far end of the table.
    â€œYes,” added Mr. Pleasant, as if she might not have heard (and she was, indeed, quite far away), “this is Mr. Scrooge.”
    â€œIt’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Scrooge,” said the lady, with a slight nod of her head.
    Scrooge was on his feet again as soon as Messrs. Pleasant and Portly dropped his hands, and he skipped around the table to where the lady sat so that he might offer a proper greeting. Taking a deep bow, he said, “The pleasure is all mine,” and then, looking her straight in her deep-set blue eyes, he added, “And may I take the opportunity of wishing you a very Merry Christmas.”
    The woman’s face, which had remained unmoved up to this point, now showed the slightest flicker of what might have been delight or amusement or both, and she said in a soft voice, “I thank you, sir, and a Happy New Year to you and your family. Mrs. Aurelia Burnett Crosse at your service.”
    â€œEbenezer Scrooge at yours. I do hope I’m not interrupting.”
    â€œOn the contrary, sir,” said